


Must Have Been the Wind

by SaccharineSalts



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, First Meetings, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inspired by Music, M/M, My First Fanfic, POV First Person, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22296991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaccharineSalts/pseuds/SaccharineSalts
Summary: Baz takes a vacation to London to stay with Fiona in her flat. One night Baz wakes up to a strange noise coming from the apartment upstairs and goes to investigate.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 73
Kudos: 229





	1. Whiskey

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> This is my first ever fanfic. I was listening to the song Must Have Been the Wind by Alec Benjamin and couldn't stop thinking about applying it to Baz and Simon.
> 
> I apologize if it's a little OOC. 
> 
> I'm not sure how long this will be but probably on the shorter side. Also, the rating is mostly for references to abuse/making out/swearing. Please let me know if it should be upped for any reason. And give lots of feedback, please!!

**Baz**

Visiting Fiona isn’t always the easiest experience, but it always looses the knot inside of my chest, making it a little easier to breathe. A little easier to laugh. Not that the whiskey isn’t helping either. It burns down my throat and burns on the way up as I start to shout-laugh at Fiona tripping over the couch. The sun has gone down a long time ago and we haven’t bothered to turn on the lights yet.

I think I tried to convince her to go to bed an hour ago. Or maybe two.

Three?

She throws me the middle finger from her spot on the floor and I put my hand over my mouth to muffle my giggle.

“Aren’t you going to help your favorite aunt up?” She says, twisting on the ground as if she’s in pain. I put my feet up on her coffee table and take another sip directly from the bottle.

This is our second shared bottle. The edges of the room are blurring together in the shadows. My legs feel like Jell-O. I don’t think I could get up to help Fiona up if I had to.

“Stop being so dramatic,” I slur.

“This is coming from you? Unbelievable little shit.”

“I’m wounded,” I say, tipping the bottle back again. The glass taps against my front teeth, sending an unpleasant shock down my jaw.

“Yeah, yeah, shouldn’t you be out at clubs with kids your age and not hanging out with your aunt?” She teases me, finally standing up on her own. She sways on her feet, gripping the edge of the couch for support.

I frown at her, thinking about the loud music and pulse of sweaty bodies. I lean forward to swat her but miss by a few inches.

“Go to bed,” I demand. I’m too drunk to sound convincing. It comes out more like I’m trying to tease her back. She looks down at her hand gripping the couch and then runs a hand through her hair.

“Yeah, maybe,” She relents, looking down the hallway, “but you gotta go to sleep to kiddo.”

“Mmm,” I hum, downing the rest of the bottle. I close my eyes against the dizzy spell that comes with the movement. When I reopen them Fiona is gone, her footsteps echoing down the hallway. I look over the couch back and watch the light of the bathroom turn on.

I trust her not to drown in her toilet, though the mental image sends a giggle through me, so I lay down on the couch and pull the throw over me. It’s not as warm as the bed would be but my legs are still uncooperative. And the ten feet to the back bedroom look more like a mile.

The ceiling is spinning above my eyes as I try to close my eyes. My stomach clenches uncomfortably and I swallow down some stomach acid that bounces up to my throat.

Focusing on the sound of Fiona brushing her teeth, I feel my feet start to go numb, sleep creeping in on me.

I should brush my teeth too. I’ve never had a cavity and I don’t want to start. But, my consciousness is teetering on an edge and I’m too drunk to move.

Tomorrow, I think.

Yeah, tomorrow is good.

Then the sharp noise of glass shatters splinters through my cozy shell of sleep. I bolt upright, gripping the back of the couch as I look over toward the hallway.

“Fiona?” I ask toward the bathroom. I lean further over to look down the hallway. The lights are off and Fiona’s door is closed. I wait in the darkness for a few seconds, listening for any other sound.

Then, faintly, I hear a voice from above me. A muffled boy’s voice laced with fear and tears. I hear something sweeping across the floor.

I get up and stumble down the hallway to Fiona’s room. I knock on her door and wait for a split second before opening it.

“Fiona?” I ask again.

“Mmm?” She hums half-unconscious at me.

“Did you hear that?” I ask her.

“Go to fuckin’ bed.”

I roll my eyes and close her door.

The voice is gone now, nothing but silence echoing around the apartment. My stomach clenches at the absence of noise.

A few minutes ago, in my mind, I was laughing and having a great time with Fiona. Drunk off my ass and ready to get some of the best night’s sleep I’ve had in months. Now, I’m too busy thinking about upstairs. What exactly was that?

The Grimm in me says to leave it alone. It's none of my damn business.

The Pitch in me says otherwise.

If Fiona was more sober, more conscious, she’d be curious. And my mother would never turn away from a person needing help.

I grind my teeth as I step out into the dimly light hallway. The carpet is cold against my bare feet. I think, for a second, of going back inside to put my shoes on. But I’m too afraid my courage will run out by the time I find them and put them on.

I’m not sober, but slightly buzzed. I stumble slightly in the hallway. The lighting is dim but still burns as I look for the elevator.

I find it at the end of the hallway and press the button. As I wait, I stop and hold my breath, listening intently to the apartment. There’s no sound but a television somewhere on the floor and the elevator whirling.

The elevator dings and I try to shut off my brain as I push the button to the floor up. I know I shouldn’t be doing this, but I can’t stop thinking about the voice. It’s racing in circles in my head like a train. Round and round until I can’t hear anything else.

I take a guess to which apartment is the one directly above Fiona’s and knock on the door.

When my knuckles touch the wood, I immediately regret my decision. It dawns on me how ridiculous this is. I could be walking into a drug deal or a murder. Hell, I could have the wrong apartment and be waking up a random stranger at who knows what time. The last time I saw my phone the sun was still out. There’s a cold breeze as the door starts to swing open. I look down at my bare feet and silk pajamas.

Why didn’t I get dressed?

“Can I help you?” A timid voice asks, stuttering over the last two words.

I look up and feel my cheeks heat up.

Inside, the apartment is black, swallowing the edges of the boy’s body in front of me. It doesn’t hide his messy bronze hair or wide blue eyes. Or the million freckles and moles on his face and arm, creating diagrams and constellations.

It certainly doesn’t hide the yellowing bruise on his jawline or the scratch on his cheek.

“I’m sorry to bother you. I think I heard something? Like glass breaking? I just wanted to make sure everything’s okay.”

He turns and looks back into the darkness before he looks at me again. His lips tug into a smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

I dig my nails into my palm as my brain tells me to drag him to Fiona’s apartment.

“I think your ears are playing tricks on you?” He asks instead of tells me. He leans out of the apartment, his injuries becoming clearer. But his eyes are clearer too. I think they might be my new favorite color. I feel my breath hitch and my body feels inclined to step backward to get air.

“Thanks for caring, that’s nice of you, but I have to go back in. I wish I could tell you about the noise, but I didn’t hear a thing. It must have been the wind.”

He speaks slowly like he’s trying to communicate something else to me behind his words. He tilts his head at me when I don’t answer immediately. My brain tries to untangle hi sentence, his words smashing into each other even as he tries to speak coherently. Like he’s not used to trying to convince people of things.

It doesn’t make any sense. I hear something breaking. It was so real I thought it was Fiona, for fuck’s sake. And based on the layout of the building—

“I really do have to go,” the boy says again, taking a step into the darkness, “thanks again.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before closing the door. I can hear the click of the lock.

“Have a good night,” I say to the closed door.

I listen to his footsteps until I can’t anymore.

My feet have gone numb from the coldness in the floor.

I don’t want to leave him there, in that apartment with who knows what.

But maybe I’m looking to far into things. I sigh and turn away.

I can’t fix anything if there’s nothing to fix. Besides, I can’t fix anything if someone closes the door on me. And yet, the walk to Fiona’s feels like the hardest walk I’ve ever made. My stomach feels deflated, dropped to the bottom of my stomach. There’s a sour taste on the tip of my tongue that I’m blaming on the whiskey for now.

That must be it. It’s all just the whiskey’s fault.

That’s why I feel like I’m falling apart.

I fall asleep on the concrete floor instead of the couch, staring up at the ceiling and trying to connect the popcorn ceiling dots to make constellations and replaying the boy’s voice over and over in my head.

_It must have been the wind._


	2. Bathroom Tiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look through Simon's eyes now, after his late-night encounter with Baz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos everyone! I know this chapter is short but I had to get stitches in my elbow last night and typing isn't feeling too great haha. 
> 
> I was planning on updating this once a week but I might do another one this week if my arm feels better <3.

** Simon **

I try to catch my breath in the bathroom, pressed up against the door, and listening to the sounds of Davy snoring. 

It’s the only two sounds in the entire apartment. My labored breathing against the bathroom tiles and Davy’s snoring circling the living room ceiling like smoke that can’t find an exit.

_I should have just done what he told me, I should have only done what he told me, I should—_

I press my palms into my hair and pull until my thoughts stop circling. My scalp burns as I slid down against the door. What was I thinking? I can’t even turn the bathroom light on because I don’t want to catch my reflection. I don’t want to know what he saw, the boy that came up to my door. With his piercing gray eyes, curious and concerned. His features were sharp like he’s cut me apart to figure out the answer. Like he’d cute Davy apart if he knew.

No matter how many times I reassure myself, I probably look fine; a voice pips up in the back of my head that I don’t. I must look like a disaster. For god’s sake, Davy threw a glass at my face. I can feel the scratch if I run my fingers over my face. I can still feel the water running down my neck and shoulders. The stinging burn of glass cutting into my cheek. Tears making Davy’s face blurred and far away. Never far away enough, though.

Instead, I run my fingers over the cold tiles. The cracks and crevices bring a mental image of the first time I slept in here. Alone, curled inside the tub, and looking at the leaky tap. The water drops landing on my grungy sneakers like teardrops. Or maybe they were teardrops. Rays of sunrise were climbing through the window and panting the bathtub pink. I wondered what it would look like painted red.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, breaking the barrier of silence. I quickly pull it out and mute it, holding my breath to see if Davy heard it. But, he’s not a light sleeper, and the snores continue without interruption. I let out a shaky sigh of relief and look at my phone.

The sun isn’t up yet but it’s past 5 am and I have no idea when that boy left or how long I’ve been hyperventilating in the bathroom, but Penny’s texting me.

_You’d think my parents would realize it’s 5:09 am and screaming about where the coffee pot plug is is, absolutely, obnoxious, and unnecessary._

I snort. Imaging having mornings like what Penny describes is liking ready a book. Comfy, cozy, and imaginable. Yet, completely unrealistic.

There’re a few responses that come to my fingertips, ready to tap away, but I don’t want her to worry so I put my phone back into my pocket. I can’t decide whether I should sleep right where I am or move to my bedroom. Davy will pound on the door in the morning if I’m still in here when he wakes up. The thought makes my heart race. But my legs don’t want to cooperate.

Leaning my head back against the door, I close my eyes and make a mental list of nice things.

  1. Penelope texting me, no matter the time, to tell me anything.
  2. Penelope, in general.
  3. The sound of Davy sleeping, because that means he’s not awake.
  4. The random kindness of strangers.



I snap my eyes open and finally get the courage to get up and flick the light on. My reflection is worse than I hoped. There’s a dark bruise blooming on my jaw, blue and purple shadows shifting on my face. My cheek has a scratch with dried blood. I take a minute to wash my face and put Neosporin on it. The last thing Davy would do is take me to a doctor.

Now that it’s the summer, Davy doesn’t care as much. He’s more violent, more out of control. Because he knows no one will have to see me. There’re no school or yearly physicals. No football games, no dates with Agatha. Just the claustrophobia of the apartment and the dread of the sun sinking into the horizon.

I hear the front door slam as I’m wiping my face with a towel. I drop it in surprise and hold my hand against my chest as my heart slams against my ribs.

Picking the towel up, my eyes flit over to the door. Beside it, the bathroom tiles are scratched. Scratched from the countless hours of me sitting against the door and running my fingernails against the tile instead of over cuts and bruises. Trying to stitch up my sanity by ruining linoleum.

It feels good to ruin something.

It makes me wonder if me and Davy have that in common.

~

I can’t stay in the apartment forever. If I did, I would lose it completely. I would basically turn into a dog. Jumping up and down when the door opens for the amusement of my abusive master.

I don’t bother sleeping. The world feels surreal and light this way. I change into my joggers and sneakers, heading around the back of the apartment complex, so no one bothers me. My plan doesn’t work.

As I turn the corner, I collide with something black smelling like cedar and bergamot.

Cigarette smoke curls around me as I stumble to catch the person’s arm.

“I’m so sorry!” I stutter as I try to right them. A burn starts on my forearm, and it takes a moment for my brain to catch up to the cigarette being snuffed out by my body.

“Do you always go around like a bull in a china shop?” The body says, turning toward me with a sneer. My heart squeezes as I recognize his sharp features.

I cross number 5 off my list mentally.

“No, I didn’t see you,” I say too loud. I place a hand protectively on the new blister on my arm from his cigarette. His eyes follow the movement, and his lips turn down into a frown. He looked much better last night. Softer around the edges. In the sunlight, he’s a blade trying to rip me apart. I swallow hard and try to come up with something to say. Instead, a string of consonances comes out of my mouth, not forming any type of word.

“Well, be more careful in the future,” He mutters, pushing past me and walking down the street. I watch as he lights another cigarette as he walks.

_Wait_ , is stuck in my throat. I want to shout and scream until he looks at me again. Until he turns around and apologizes. Or mentions last night.

But this way, this way, last night isn’t real. So, why are there reminders of it on my skin? Why can he walk away and not me?

I grind my teeth.

My feet pick up into the run easy enough. I pass him and make an effort not to look at him. Eventually, I turn my head and he’s no longer behind me.

It’s easier to run than to think. And as I move through the streets with sweat stinging my eyes, I think about running forever. I think of Forest Gump running across the States.

What would they look like this time of year?

I run until I feel blood and blisters starting up.

Run, run, run. And yet, I still end up back in front of the apartment complex, staring up at the windows of our apartment.

Out of breath and thinking about taking a sledgehammer to the side of it. Destroying every brick until there’s nothing left. 


	3. Déjà Vu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz has some serious déjà vu. How many times is he going to make late-night trips to his upstairs neighbor?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Thank you all so much for your kudos and comments. They all make my day (seriously <3). 
> 
> I'm planning on updating this once a week, but work has been hectic lately (my supervisor had a baby which is one of the things that inspired this chapter).
> 
> I think I write better from Simon's POV. I've always loved Simon's character and have felt a strong connection with him. So, please be gentle on my Baz chapters :).

** Baz **

“What’s bothering you, boy-o?” Fiona says, pushing her shoulder against mine. I try not to squirm away from the touch. Instead, I press my fingertips to my forearm. Right in the same spot I burned _him._

“Nothing,” I mumble and try to focus again on the movie. I can see Fiona roll her eyes from the corner of my eye.

“You ain’t as slick as you think.”

Now I roll my eyes.

“Do you know who lives above you?” I ask. Since I can’t stop thinking about it anyway. I haven’t slept at all. I chain-smoked half a pack of cigarettes after I watched the boy run away from me. His footfalls are still echoing in my head. And the expression on his face.

Why do I have to be such an asshole?

Fiona tilts her head up toward the ceiling. Silence follows in our apartment. Leaving more room for the chaos outside. Of the neighbors coming home from work, television blurring sitcoms and news stations, and kids laughing. There’s no glass shattering or freighted voices. At least, not yet.

“Salisbury?” She breaks the silence, turning toward me with her eyebrows, furrowed, “what about him?”

“Nothing, I just thought I heard something weird last night.”

Fiona looks back up at the ceiling like it might reveal some secret. When a few minutes pass, she shrugs her shoulders and looks back at the television screen. We’re sitting in the near darkness, curtains drawn against the sunset, so the colors flash across her face.

“It was probably nothing.”

I swear, for a moment, her eyes look darker. But I blink, and she’s normal expression.

I shrug it off and change the topic instead, kicking her lightly with my socked foot (which gets me a face of disgust).

“What time is your concert tomorrow?” I ask her, trying to image the bar that she described to me. Image her swaying with a red guitar underneath colored lights. Strangers crowding around and shouting for more. It tugs a smile to my face. My Rockstar aunt. Or as my dad would say, deadbeat aunt.

“We’re going on at eleven, so you better go to bed early tonight and get plenty of rest. How am I supposed to play without my biggest fan?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, right. Pick another movie and call for a pizza. I’m sick of this one.”

~

I follow Fiona’s advice and lay down in the guest bedroom. Full of pizza and buzzing with adrenaline from too many action movies. My head feels light from lack of sleep. The shadows of dancing in the corners of my eyelids. I think this is how people see ghosts and vampires.

I lay there in the darkness, looking towards the wall so I can think of anything but freckles and bronze hair. And hurt confused expressions. Why am I like this? Why did I push him away like that? I can’t even believe I burned him (it was an accident of course) (and entirely the idiot’s fault for running around corners).

My fingers brush against the cold fabric of the sheets. The apartment is colder than my house is, always is for some reason, and there’s no cat here to curl up to me. I sigh and turn around to face the doorway.

The other problem is it’s too quiet. This might seem contradictory as it’s in London for fuck’s sake, but I’m used to children’s voices and laughter filling up the air. I don’t hear Mordelia or the twins. There’s nothing but the snores of Fiona. Not that those aren’t comforting, but they aren’t the same. It’s not the sound of my _home_.

The next few things happen at the same time.

I sigh and push my face into the pillow, crushing it with my hands on either side.

A door slams shut somewhere.

My phone bings.

And there’s a crash so loud my heart jumps out of my chest.

“Holy shit,” I say, sitting up. I throw my legs off the side of the bed and wait for another noise. To my despair, my phone bings again, lighting the room up with the blue notification light. It blinks at me as I wait for something. Anything.

I get up and walk into the hallway. After the noises, everything seems to be extra quiet. Like me walking around is breaking some sort of barrier. Like I’m disturbing something.

I lean into Fiona’s room. She’s still snoring, completely oblivious to the world. 

I pause in her doorway, thinking about waking her up. But what would she do anyway?

_What am I going to do?_

I swear underneath my breath and leave the apartment, taking the same route as I did before. I try not to think as I carry myself to the elevator. As I press the button going up and the doors close.

It feels like déjà vu. Doing the same thing repeatedly, memories reminding me of last night. I wonder how many times I might take this elevator ride while I’m here. How many times is my chest going to feel like it’s going to explode?

The feeling gets worse as the doors open.

The boy is sitting with his back against the door to his apartment. His chest is exposed. Only a pair of boxers saving any dignity he has left. I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. I snap it closed, and step out of the elevator, averting my eyes toward the door. Defiantly not letting my eyes linger on any exposed skin (not at all). I try to gather all the confidence I have into my spine, making me stand straight. I belong here, I tell myself, this isn’t totally weird or coincidental.

“I, uh, locked myself out,” He says with a nervous laugh when he sees me. The bruise on his jawline looks worse, darkening to a plum color. I curse myself for not knowing what to say. I, Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, am speechless. Ogling over a stranger in the middle of the night, in the middle of an apartment complex hallway. My bare feet numb and my fingers following suit.

“Do you need me to call the landlord?” I manage to say.

He jumps up to his feet, holding his hands out defensively. Somehow, he doesn’t follow over, even though he loses his balance.

“No, really, I just, I’m okay. My friend lives down the street, and she’ll let me stay the night until the morning,” He stutters, tripping over his words as he fiddles with his own fingers. I want to grab them and intertwine them with my fingers. Instead, I dig my nails into my palm.

“Yeah, but I could just get the landlord to let you in now,” I say slowly.

“No, seriously, I’m fine.”

“So, you’re just going to walk a few blocks, or so, half-naked?”

The boy seems to realize his state of dress and pink creeps up his neck. It also blossoms on his chest and shoulders. Making the freckles and moles pop out more. Raised splotches of paint on a pink canvas. I look down at the carpet.

I know he’s lying. But why? What’s so bad that he’d rather stay out in the hallway for hours than get help? I can’t think of anything better than crawling back into my warm bed.

“Look, you can stay in my apartment until morning—“ He interrupts me by shaking his head, “okay, _fine_ , then at least take some clothes.”

He pauses, jutting his chin out, then relaxes with a sigh. He turns his smile toward me. Cautious, like I might bite him.

“Okay, but nothing nice. Okay?”

I roll my eyes and turn around to press the button for the elevator. I can hear him walk up behind me, but I don’t dare turn around. I cannot be trusted in my current state.

We walk to the apartment quietly. He refuses to come inside, so I grab a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt for him. I realize as I’m walking through the living room that he’ll have no shoes.

“Hey,” I start as I exit the apartment, “you can’t walk around the city shoeless.”

The boy looks up at me and blinks a few times.

“It’s not a big deal,” He states.

I want to throw my arms around him and pull him into the apartment. He must have a sixth sense because he takes a step back. Creating more space than I’d like between us.

He smells nice, up close, like fresh laundry and soap. There’s an underlining of musk through. Sweat or something similar.

“Anyway, thank you.”

“Wait,” I say, “What’s your name?”

The boy pulls on the shirt I gave him. It messes up his curls perfectly. I frown at him, jealousy tapping the inside of my stomach. Or maybe it’s lust.

“Simon,” He says.

“I’m Baz. If you need anything, just let me know.”

He nods and tugs on the sweatpants. They’re too tight on his hips. Pulling around his thighs.

“I’m sorry I burned you,” I say before I can stop myself. I blame it on the poor fit of his clothes (my clothes?). Forcing words out of me that I don’t want to let go. We both look down at his arm at the same time. The burn isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. It looks relatively good, for a burn that is. Only a dark mark. It almost matches his moles.

He looks back up first, our eyes catching each other like magnets. A gravitational pull trying to get us closer. He takes another step back, his eyes becoming shiny.

“Are you okay?” I say and reach a handout. It hangs in the air between us.

He subconsciously has a hand come up to his hair, tugging at it. I can see his scalp resisting. It would be such a shame if he lost all those curls from pulling them out.

“Yeah, thanks again.” He turns, and I let him go this time.

I swallow down a million questions I have bubbling up on my tongue.

A million more questions than I had this morning. I turn back to the apartment, looking at the dark apartment and trying to see what Simon sees. Pizza boxes and empty beer cans. Fiona’s coat is over the back of the couch, and my throw blanket is spilling off onto the floor.

I close the door behind me and go back to my bedroom. The room lights up in a flash of blue. I find my phone on the nightstand and finally open it to see the notifications.

The first one is a picture of a baby. A full bush of black hair upon its small head, fingers curled tightly around a white blanket.

_Say hello to your baby brother Lucius._

Great, I think, throwing the phone onto the bottom of the bed and faceplanting onto the mattress.

Less time with Fiona.

Less time to save Simon.


	4. Purple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz invites Simon to go see Fiona's concert at a club.

** Simon **

I keep thinking about Baz as the cars speed by the apartment complex. Sitting in the alley that leads to the back entrance, watching the sun start to slowly rise. It colors the neighborhood in a hue of robin blue and pink. I sit there long enough to see a glimpse of Davy walking to work.

From this distance, he looks like any Professor of a respectable college. Nice jeans, white polo, messenger bag, slung across his shoulders. Hell, he even looks a bit handsome like that. Not staring down at me like an insect.

Just existing.

Sometimes I look in the mirror and see our similarities.

I wonder if I’m as horrifying as he is when he’s mad.

When I’m positive he’s not going to turn the corner and find me, I go back inside the building. On the way to my apartment, I stop in front of Baz’s door. I listen for a few beats before moving on and getting into the elevator.

I pause again when I’m inside my own apartment, stripping his clothes off. Wafting scents of him all around me. I tug my own clothes on and sigh, holding his in one hand.

I know I should return them. I know I should walk downstairs and do it. But why does it feel so hard to knock on his door? He’s knocked on mine before, without a single real reason.

Yet, anxiety chews at my chest. I think about throwing the clothes away. If I ever see him again, then I can say I lost them.

Or my dad threw them out. He’s got to know what he’s like by now, right? Living near us must be hell. All our neighbors probably know, for Christ’s sake. 

I pace in the hallway for a few minutes, gaining the courage to walk downstairs when there’s a soft knock at the door. I stare at it in disbelief. It can’t be.

Slowly, I open the door, keeping a safe distance away from it. Baz looks up from his phone and gives me a soft smile. The kind of smile that makes my insides tingle. I bite my lip and smile back, handing his clothes back to him.

“I was just going to return these,” I say with a small laugh that I hope doesn’t sound as exhausted to him as it does to me. He tilts his head, slipping his phone into his back pocket and replacing it with the clothes.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Our fingers brush as he takes the clothes from me. They’re freezing, taking away some of my excess heat. I curl my fingers at my side. Trying to keep the smallest amount of the feeling in my hand.

Like dipping your fingers into ice water on a hot day.

“What are you doing tonight?” Baz asks me. I jump at the question. His voice shocking me out of my thoughts.

“Um, nothing, I guess.”

“Not walking to a friend’s house without shoes on?” He says while staring down at his clothes. I can see him picking at a loose thread. Was that because of me, or was it there before?

“No, that was last night’s agenda,” I joke. He moves his eyes to me, and his smile comes back.

“Well then, if you’d like, you can come see my Aunt play tonight. Meet me downstairs at 10 and wear something nice,” He says, wrinkling his nose at my current clothes. I roll my eyes and start to close the door, holding it open with my foot and leaning out.

“Maybe,” I say, thinking about Davy again. Does he care where I go? Would he notice? I never disappear. I never have anywhere to go.

“Well, if you aren’t there by 10:10, I’ll leave without you. Just think about it,” He says. He turns away from me. I try not to watch him walk to the elevator. But he moves with such grace he could be a vampire.

I go back in the apartment and lay down on my bed, looking at the clock on my phone screen. I can see that Penelope and Agatha have both texted me, but I’m too tired to open the notifications. If I open them, I’ll have to answer them. That’s how these things work. But if I leave them there, blinking forever, then they’ll never have to know.

They’ll think I’m having a great time somewhere.

Like every other kid on summer holiday.

~

I wake up to the sound of the door opening. The silence that follows it makes my blood turn hot with anxiety. Stress building inside of my heart, pumping it at twice the regular rate. He pauses long enough that I think someone else must have come inside. But then I hear him go about his normal routine. The bathroom door opens and closes. The shower kicks on, and after that, he’ll pop open a beer and sit at the kitchen countertop, grading paperwork.

Davy’s not an alcoholic. I’ve wondered before if that would make it better. Having an excuse on his part for the things he does.

I unlock my phone as the shower turns off. It’s 7 somehow. I was hoping he would wake me up later. I was hoping I would sleep until I figured out a way to sneak out to be with Baz.

Saying it like that makes it sound like an act of rebellion. Even though my father kicks me out half the time anyway.

I hear his phone start to ring and lean my head toward the direction of the living room.

The bathroom door opens, and his voice floats through the house.

“Hello, Dr. Salisbury.” His voice is pleasant and polite. I mouth the words to myself.

As if I could ever speak as smoothly.

I once went on RateMyProfessor to see what other people saw in my father. To see how he treated other people. Almost all the comments were the same. Positive, teeming with praise and rating his attractiveness and attentiveness. But there was one comment that I’ll always remember.

It said something along the lines of:

_Dr. Salisbury is racist and sexist. Won’t listen to anything someone says unless it’s exactly what he thinks. Not open-minded at all. Wouldn’t give me an extension on a paper after I had to miss a week of class to be with my mother (going through chemo). Would absolutely stay away from this class. Besides, sometimes the looks he gives the girls makes my skin crawl._

I tried to look up that comment again, and it was deleted.

His rating was bumped up.

“No, they can’t do that. That’s completely unjustified.” I can hear Davy say through the walls. His voice is getting deeper, his anger seeping through. It makes the hair on my arms stand on end.

I look over at the window and think about slipping out in case he takes his phone call out on me. But there’s no fire escape on this window, and I think the fall would break something, if not my ankles.

I hear him growl something over the phone and a thump of it probably being thrown onto the couch. The room goes silent again. I wait for him to remember my existence but, instead, the television blurs to life. The tension in my shoulders releases a bit, and I lay down to try and catch more sleep.

But it comes in waves. Sleep that wants to make sure I’m aware of my surroundings because it isn’t safe. It’s never safe.

I get up at 9:45 and change into the best clothes I own (which are not great by any means). Ripped jeans and a t-shirt that doesn’t have any stains. I put on my sneakers and open the door, trying not to flinch at the sight of Davy on the couch.

“Have a date?” My father asks, the corner of his mouth curling.

“No,” I say, trying to keep my voice even, “I was going to go out with a friend for a little bit.”

“Which friend?” He asks, his eyes narrowing. As if he’s accusing me of not having friends. And usually, he’d be right. I barely leave the house because I have no friends, and the ones I do are generally too busy for me.

“Penelope,” I say. I can feel sweat starting to form on the back of my neck. His phone buzzes on his lap, and he looks down at it before waving me off.

The feeling of relief is so immediate it feels like a wall hitting me in the chest. I mentally thank the person texting him.

“Don’t be late,” He warns as I move toward the door.

He knows I won’t be. I know I won’t be, but it still makes me want to turn around and hide underneath the bed. I can’t get in trouble for never leaving after all.

I swallow down the fear and push myself out the door.

I’m surprised when I see Baz standing outside his door, smiling down at his phone.

“What are you smiling about?” I ask, feeling my own lips turn upwards. His smile is contagious. It feels special like it’s a tiny miracle.

His head whips around, and he tugs a strand of black hair behind his ear.

“Nothing,” He mumbles, pushing his phone away. I bite the inside of my cheeks, so my smile doesn’t turn into a frown.

“Are you ready?” He asks me, looking back into his own apartment. I lean closer to see if I can see something too. An older woman stands in the doorway, a guitar case in hand. She looks like a sharper image of Baz. Like being older makes you harder.

Her eyes are the same silver as Baz’s, and they pierce through me just the same. Bullets puncturing holes into my soul. I try to cover myself up with a nervous laugh and diverting attention by putting my hand out.

“Hi, I’m Simon,” I say nervously. I see Baz look at me from the corner of my eye. She looks at my hand like I’ve offended her.

“Nice to meet you, Simon,” She says, drawing my name out like it’s exotic. I try not to flinch at the firmness of her handshake. I feel like she’s trying to break every bone in my hand.

I shake the pain away when she turns toward the door. Baz smirks at me and shakes his head, following the older woman. I follow, unsure of where we’re going.

We walk through a few streets in silence, and I begin to wonder if this was a terrible idea. But really, what could be worse than being at home?

The city is hot even for a summer night. Sweat is staining the pits of my shirt and I can feel the fabric sticking to my lower back. Baz and the woman are both cool and collected, though. Even wearing all black.

Cicadas, cars, and the constant hum of people float around us.

“So, kid, you into rock and roll, yeah?” The older woman says to me as we start to descend into the subway. I try not to look nervous as we approach the turnstile.

“Oh, huh, yeah,” I manage to sputter out. I hear Baz huff. I can’t tell if he’s annoyed with the woman or me. Baz and her go through using their phones and continue toward the right track without looking back at me.

I pat my pockets and fish out an older train card from my wallet, praying there’s enough for two trips on it.

It miraculously goes up when I pass the card over the reader, and I exhale a sigh of relief, scooting in to catch up with the two dark figures in front of me. They look like mother and son. It makes my heart hurt. I lag slightly, watching as Baz looks up at the woman and talks to her. They banter back and forth, smiles and smirks being shared between them.

It makes me wish I had a mother. I know it’s juvenile and stupid, but I think it anyway.

I think of photos I’ve seen of her. Bronze curly hair and blue eyes. Strong shoulders and freckles.

Would she play in a band too? What kind of music did she even like?

Then I fall behind enough that Baz notices, and he stops in the middle of the crowd and waits for me to catch up. A man grumbles something underneath his breath as I stop in front of him, causing him to reroute around me.

“Sorry,” I say to Baz. He nods as he turns and continues walking. I feel a bit bad walking with them now. Like I’m interrupting something I shouldn’t be. Something that’s supposed to be between mother and son.

I step into the subway after them anyway, even though my foot hovers over the yellow line for a second longer than necessary.

The subway isn’t as packed as I was expecting, and I take a seat. The vinyl tugs at the skin on the back of my knees.

Baz and the woman stay standing, holding onto the same pole and talking about some movie. The last movie I say was at Agatha’s and was a Christmas movie with her family. That was over a year ago, and the movie was in black and white for Christ’s sake.

I decide to leave them to their conversation and watch the city and walls of the underground fly past for four stops before Baz shakes my shoulder and makes me stand up.

We walk through throngs of people out into the streets of downtown London, weaving through like we’ve got important places to be.

We finally stop in front of a club with broken lights, making the name look like _he uderund._ It flashes red in the dark, and I try not to look at it directly or the bouncer who is waving us in. His knuckles catch my attention as I walk by. I tilt my head and try to catch what’s tattooed on them but there’s not enough light and we’re moving too fast.

“Alright, behave,” The woman says and kisses Baz on the top of his head. He swats at her like she’s a nuisance, and she laughs, disappearing into the crowd around us.

Baz finally turns to me, leaving us alone. And yet, not alone at all.

The crowd around us is full of conversation and movement. Not dancing but not fully standing still either. There’s faint music playing over the chatter. My ears can only take in the bass of the song.

“Do you want to sit at a booth?” Baz shouts, leaning into me so I can hear him. I feel my face flush as he does, the smell of his clothes from this morning coming back to me. Cigarette smoke, cedar, and bergamot. Maybe I should ask him what cologne he wears so I can wear it. Because it smells good, not because it smells like him.

I nod instead of trusting my mouth and let him drag me through the sea of bodies to the corner of the room. From this perspective of the place, I can see there’s a stage in front. They’re setting up microphones and amps as Baz takes a seat in the booth. The seat squeaks underneath my weight as I squeeze in with him. Everything looks old. The wall paint is peeling, and the floors look worn down. Even the people are generally older. Baz and I are the youngest that I’ve spotted so far.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Baz asks me, making a motion like he’s going to get up.

I shake my head and he moves back into the seat beside me. It’s quieter in the corner of the room, in the booth, but still noisy enough that when he tries to talk to me, he has to lean in. His shoulder bumps into mine as he does. A tingling sensation runs down my thighs, and I try not to wiggle away.

“My aunt’s band is going to open, and then we can head out if you want to,” Baz whisper-shouts into my ear. He places his hand on my shoulder halfway through the sentence. My brain takes a while to take in the rest of the sentence.

“I need to be home before midnight,” I say into his ear. He nods his head, and grimly looks at me.

I feel like I said something wrong, but I’ve barely spoken.

I take in the crowd around us again instead of looking at Baz’s face.

As I do the lights dim down, and the crowd erupts into cheers and whistles. The band shuffles onto the stage and picks up their equipment. There’s five of them, two guitars, a bass, a drummer, and a singer. The singer is a young man whose blue hair looks luminescent in the purple and red lights.

“How is everyone doing tonight?” The singer asks and waits for the crowd to yell out responses before taking the mic in hand again, “We’re Nicotine Act, and we’re going to play a few songs for you tonight.”

He says something else into the microphone that is too rushed for me to catch, before Baz’s aunt starts strumming on her guitar.

I look over at him. His eyes are closed and he’s drumming on the table in rhythm with the music. I smile at him. Then the singer starts to sing, and the hair on my arms stands on end.

I’ve never heard the song before, but his voice is angelic and eerie, like the velvet on an Ouija board being slid over with a planchette. I close my eyes and try to focus on the lyrics.

_I am free now  
Free to live without my fears  
I believe now  
There's a reason why I'm here  
It's to try to do good  
It's to try to do better_

I open my eyes again and watch the band. Baz’s aunt looks like she’s in meditation. In fact, her and Baz have the same peaceful looks on their face. As if this is the only time they can be themselves. Just let it all go.

The singer repeats the chorus again and then shares a look with the drummer as the music slows down for the bridge.

_And we dream of the day when our kids can play  
In the streets with no fear of them being taken away  
Fathers raise their sons with respect and love  
Handle anger and pain with no need for no guns  
If we hope to be free, it takes you and me  
To start over here and now  
'Cause this world is the way it is,  
It's how we raise our kids._

I swallow hard and press my fingernails into my palms. My heartbeat is picking up again, and my eyes are straining to see the crowd. They blur into a single image, smudged by the tears welling up. The purple lights turn into halos, burning into my retinas. I feel like if I close my eyes, I’ll see them forever. Purple circles mocking me. Like bruises that can’t be rubbed away.

Something cold and soft brushes my forearm, and I look down to see Baz’s fingers curling around it.

“Okay?” He asks. His voice sounds like it’s coming through a tin can. Far away and echoing.

_Can I be a man?  
One that understands  
How to love more patiently  
I am free now_

“I need-t—” I start to say before my throat closes. Invisible hands choke me, taking up my oxygen supply. I duck out of the booth and push past the crowd as they cheer for the song.

The air outside is hot and oppressive. A hot wall that smacks into my chest and stops any air from expending into my lungs. 

The bouncer looks up from his phone screen and frowns at me.

“Hey, you okay, kid?” He asks.

“I’m fine,” I stutter out, moving away from the club entrance. The tears have started to spill down my cheeks. I don’t know why I’m reacting like this to a song. I feel stupid and emotional as I stand on the curb.

“What time is it?” I gather up the courage to ask the bouncer.

“11:30.”

I nod and look back at the club. The band is on another song. Baz’s aunt is fully jamming out, bouncing up and down on the stage as the singer dances near the bassist.

Why did they play that song? Part of me thinks.

Another part of me thinks, why are you acting like a baby?

“Simon?” A voice says from behind me. Suddenly the sound of the music floats out from the club and into the street. The bouncer looks over in annoyance.

“In or out,” He commands, and the noise is muffled out again.

“Simon?” The voice says again, sterner. I don’t need to look at Baz to know it’s him, but I do anyway. I wipe at my tears with my fingers. It doesn’t do much besides smearing them across my cheeks and palm.

“Are you okay? Do you want me to walk you home?” Baz asks concern making his voice shake.

“I’m fine. I just…needed some air. I can walk home alone, it’s fine.”

Baz crosses his arms.

“You’re not walking home alone.”

“Well, you have to wait for your aunt.”

“She’s a grown woman, she can get home by herself,” Baz says, placing his hand gingerly on the back of my arm. He pushes, and I start to walk. I want to argue that I can also get home alone, but I don’t want him to take his hand back.

“You know, you can stay the night if you want to,” Baz says as we get nearer to the subway. I stop on the sidewalk and turn toward him.

“I can’t,” I say, even though I don’t know if that’s true. I’ve never stayed over a friend’s house without having been previously kicked out (which they don’t know). My father usually let me back in a few hours later, but sometimes it would last a day or two. He changed the locks once on me. That was the most extended amount of time, a total of three days.

“I understand,” Baz says with his jaw clenched.

I feel like I’ve said the wrong thing again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song used in this is Free Now by Sleeping with Sirens. I saw them a week ago and couldn't think of another song to use hahaha. I wanted to keep it rock and roll so I didn't use Lean on Me like the original Alec Benjamin song does. And I thought it was a good fit so let me know if you agree :).
> 
> Sorry for the wait too I had the flu and can't write unless I'm in the mood for it (which is a complete burden).


	5. The Moon Borrows the Sun’s light

** Baz **

I’m trying not to think about Simon. It turns out, that’s an incredibly hard endeavor.

I stare up at the ceiling and wait for a reason to go upstairs. But there’s nothing. Only silence tonight. I hate to admit it, but it makes my stomach hurt. And my eyes keep glancing upward instead of sleeping.

Then I start to wonder what he’s doing.

Is he talking to his dad? What’s his dad like? What about his mom?

There’re a million questions I have. Some center around his universe. Some around what he’s currently doing. Is he lying in his bed? That makes my stomach twist hotly though, so I push that thought away.

Fiona came back a few hours ago. She had raised her eyebrows at me when she saw me sulking on the couch, drinking a caramel latte I made myself and listening to David Bowie.

“I think most people eat ice cream when they’re sad.” Is what she had said to me, eyeing my cup. Then she turned the lights on, and I temporarily lost my vision from sitting in the dark for so long. The only noise in the room was her laughter.

She got ready for bed without saying another word to me. I had to get up and turn the lights back off.

The caffeine is making my body jittery. I don’t know if my legs would hold me up if I tried to get off the couch right now. The sun is starting to peek into the room, dusting the carpeted floor with golden rays.

I finally decide that I want a cigarette more than wallowing on the couch and get up and leave the apartment. The city is calm right now, the world just waking up. A few people pass me on the street as they walk to work. I have my back to the apartment door and am surprised when it swings open, clipping me in the shoulder.

“My apologies,” A man’s voice says. I turn to look back at him, cigarette hanging from my lips. I can feel the smoke building up in my mouth.

“No worries,” I say and am transfixed by his eyes. They’re the color of a summer sky. I’ve seen those eyes before, I realize.

This is Simon’s dad.

He doesn’t look anything like I imagined he would. He’s a handsome man wearing a green button-up shirt and tan chinos. He has a travel mug in one hand and a stack of papers in the other. I move out of the way so he can slide past me easier.

“I’m sorry, are you Mr. Salisbury?” I ask, trying to get a good look at the papers. They look like essays. The one on top doesn’t have a title and I can see red ink marks all over it. I feel slightly bad for that person.

“Yes, have I had the pleasure of having you in class before?” He seems a bit frazzled by my question. It takes a second for my brain to realize what he’s said. He’s a teacher. I look back at the papers in his hand and notice scratches on his knuckles. My stomach’s acid rises up my throat.

“Oh, no, I just go to that school,” I lie, “and I’ve heard about you.”

“Well, hopefully, you can take one of my courses next semester, yes? I teach a rather exciting one on Vikings. They are my specialty actually,” He glances down at his smartwatch and frowns, “I’m sorry, I would love to talk more but I have to catch a train to get to the field school. It was nice meeting you, young man.”

With that, he turns and hurries down the street. I watch him go, finishing my cigarette. It leaves behind a terrible taste in my mouth that makes me walk into the elevator instead of back into my own apartment.

I knock on Simon’s door since I know his father can’t answer, and realize that he’s probably asleep.

“Did you forget your key?” Simon’s face says softly from the other side of the door. It opens and he frowns when he sees me.

I have to dig my nails into my palms to stop from running back outside and punching his father in the face.

His left eye is blacked, a purple ring around it. The blue in his eyes stands out more. Reminding me of the perfectly unbruised face I saw downstairs, sporting the same blue eyes. When he blinks, he winces. There are red marks around his neck and wrists and he’s visibly rubbing at his neck. I can’t tell if it’s because it hurts or because he’s nervous.

“Hi Baz,” Simon says nervously, looking down at the ground, “what are you doing here?”

“What the fuck happened to you?” I growl, pushing my way into his apartment. Surprised, he steps back and lets me in. I look around, but everything looks pristine. Too pristine, like someone cleaned up a crime scene. The smell of bleach hangs in the air. It burns the back of my throat.

“He’s not here,” Simon says quickly. He sounds worried for his father. I turn toward him and wrap my arms around him, squeezing and ignoring his breath hitching. I turn Simon’s face toward my neck and he succumbs, pressing his face into my collarbone.

After a few seconds, I feel Simon start to drag me downwards. At first, I’m worried he’s passing out, but then I feel something wet on my shirt.

“Simon,” I whisper holding him up so he doesn’t have to, “it’s okay. Come on, let’s go downstairs.”

I pull away from him. He makes a noise of protest as I do, tugging at my shirt.

It takes everything inside me to not hold him again. Tears are dripping down his cheeks, collecting on his jaw, and rolling down his red neck. I want to kiss them away. That urge is easier to repress.

Simon lets me drag him down to my apartment, where I force him to sit down onto the couch. My lack of sleep is starting to catch up to me as I make more coffee.

“How do you take your coffee?” I ask Simon. He surprises me by answering black. I wrinkle my nose at the strong smell of it as I pass it to him. I drink my coffee (which is more milk than coffee) and curl up on the couch next to him. I can hear Fiona’s snores as we sit in the silence. That and Simon’s stomach grumbling. I don’t think he’s hungry though. I think he’s nervous.

The couch isn’t that big. It’s long enough for me to lay down flat, but having two people curled on it makes out calves and feet press up against each other. Not that I’m complaining. My toes are always freezing and Simon’s are like having a heat pack on them.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I say into the silence. My voice surprises us both.

“About what?” Simon says defensively. His legs tense against mine.

“The…wind?”

Simon looks confused and tilts his head at me before it dawns on him, his face becoming somber.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Okay.”

We fall back into silence until my phone starts to buzz on the coffee table. My father’s face lights up on the screen. I look at Simon and then say, “hold on,” underneath my breath as I pick it up.

“Hi, Dad,” I say into the phone. I can hear a baby crying in the background. That baby is my brother, a part of my brain tells me.

“Basilton, how are you? Are you having a good time with Fiona?”

“Yes, father,” I say and try not to roll my eyes. I can hear his concern through the static on the line. Simon is staring at me. I can see it out of the corner of my eye and I try to ignore it.

“Good, I tried to call Fiona but she must still be sleeping. But as you know, your brother is here now, and we really want you to meet him.” I wince and pray he doesn’t make me come home. Not yet, I beg in my head glancing at Simon, please not yet.

“We thought we could come down and stay for a few days so you both could meet him,” My father says. I feel my heart lighten. A smile spreads across my face against my will. Simon smiles at me when I look at him.

“Yeah, sure, that would be great. I don’t think Fiona’s has enough room though,” I say looking around the small apartment.

“We’d get a hotel,” My father practically scoffs. I bite my tongue to not laugh at him.

“Of course.”

“We’ll try to be there tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay, dad, see you then.”

“Love you,” My dad says. It catches me off guard. He doesn’t normally say that to me. Especially not as a goodbye on the phone.

“Love you too,” I murmur and hang up as my face starts to burn.

“Your dad sounds nice,” Simon says next to me. I nod as I place my phone back on the table.

“My family is a bit odd sometimes, but yeah, they are.”

I hear Fiona’s bed squeak and tap Simon’s knee.

“Follow me,” I say quietly. When I stand, he does follow suit and I lead him into my bedroom, closing the door just as Fiona’s opens.

I take a seat on the guest bed, kicking my shoes off, and watch Simon look around the room. His eyes go from my luggage to the perfectly made bed.

“Do you always make your bed when you wake up?” Simon asks me.

“No,” I confess, “I haven’t slept yet.”

Simon frowns at me and takes a seat next to me on the bed.

“I don’t want to keep you awake,” He says as he places a hand over mine.

“I don’t want you to leave,” I say back. I can’t look at him so I look down at our hands instead.

“Okay.”

_What?_

Simon takes his shoes off and lays down on the bed, patting the empty space next to him. If I lay down next to him, do I face him or away? The bed is only a full, so there’s not that much room.

I decide to face Simon so I can look at his face. Even bruised he’s so handsome my heart is pounding against my ribs. I feel a bit lightheaded. I blame it on the amount of caffeine I’ve ingested and the lack of food.

He’s so close I can smell his morning breath. Not that I mind.

My breath probably smells like coffee and caramel. Which, I suppose, there are worst things to smell like.

“Simon, where’s your mom?” I ask. His eyes go to the window above my head.

“She passed away in childbirth.”

His breath fans out across my face. I feel my cheeks heating up.

“I’m sorry. My mother’s dead too. She died in a house fire,” I say, curling more into his body heat. Without the blankets, it’s freezing in here. Simon is throwing off enough heat to be a house fire himself. I’m worried for a moment, that if I get to close, he’ll burn me. In more than one way.

“Tell me more about you,” I whisper when Simon doesn’t say anything. He closes his eyes against the sunshine. I miss the way the light was reflecting in his eyes. I could see my own face too, looking back up at him. It felt intimate in all the right ways. I swallow hard thinking about it.

“My best friend’s name is Penelope. She’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. She’s also super patient. I had a girlfriend named Agatha, but she broke up with before the summer holiday. She said we were better as friends.” Simon shrugs at the end of his sentence.

I feel my heart drop down to my stomach. What was I thinking? Of course, Simon isn’t gay, I don’t know why I thought I had a chance. Even if I did, we are complete opposites. He’s the sun and I’m the moon.

I don’t mind basking in his light though, for a little bit, and pretending that it’s mine. Borrowing and not keeping.

I feel like I might start crying so I close my eyes too, curling my hands into the sheets.

“Keep talking,” I command. Simon listens, his voice floating around me. I imagine we’re laying here and he’s smiling at me, with eyes full of adoration. That he’s thinking about running his fingertips over my lips like I’m thinking about doing to his. That he doesn’t need to go home. He can lay here forever and I’ll keep him safe. Me and Fiona can be his new family. And we’ll kill his father if he ever tries to touch him again.

Listening is getting harder as my body realizes I’m laying down. The caffeine is winding down, flushing out of my system, and my head feels heavy. As I’m falling asleep, I think how much better it would be to fall asleep listening to Simon’s voice every night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this at work because every supervisor was out (and half the people left early).
> 
> I also wrote the next chapter ;D, which I should publish either later tonight or tomorrow! I edited this in a bit of a rush because I'm supposed to be meeting my friends for dinner.


	6. Fake love, Fake hate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day late, but here is the new chapter!
> 
> I'd like to insert a trigger warning for child abuse / domestic violence for this chapter. Simon thinks about what his father did last night and talks about pain. If that's going to bother you please skip this chapter or proceed with caution. 
> 
> I can provide a summary in the next chapter if anyone would like (so you don't miss anything if you do skip :) )

** Simon **

Baz falls asleep as I start to tell him about Penny’s love for Jane Austen. I suppose it is rather boring (and he _did_ say he hadn’t slept yet). When he’s asleep, he makes small snores that make my heart hurt. I don’t know why. His face is also placid, serene. No sneers or mask trying to cover up his emotions. When he looks like this, I want to squeeze him. The urge to wrap my arms around him makes my muscles twitch. But it would probably wake him up, and he needs to sleep.

There’s a voice in the back of my head nagging at me to go back home. To pretend, this never happened. It’ll be easier that way. If Baz’s phone call didn’t confirm my suspicions of him not living here, then the luggage does. He’s just visiting. He’ll get bored of me come the end of the summer and forget all about me when he goes back to school. I’m sure he has hoards of friends waiting for him. How could he not? He’s caring and kind (sometimes he pretends to be tough, but that’s all it is, pretending) and handsome. There’s really nothing special about me that could catch his attention. Besides being a charity case.

When I go back to school, I’ll have Penny and Agatha to look forward too. And the sweet escape from Davy. Not only do get 8 hours away from him by being in school, but he goes back to having regular classes. Which means he’s not home as often either.

All I want is to be alone for a few hours. To not constantly have to think about my noise levels. To be over aware of every inch of my body, ever noise that my feet and hands make. I hate it. Davy makes me feel like a noisy insect that he keeps trying to squash. I’m worried one day he’ll find the Raid and finally discard me.

My head is pounding. There’s a massive headache (or migraine?) coming on. The sunlight is stinging my eyes. My neck isn’t doing much better. It feels like there’s a bruise forming around it. Every swallow feels like his hands are around it again. Squeezing, dull pain.

When I walked in the door last night, I tripped over the carpet, crashing into the coffee table and knocking something off it. The light flicked on in his bedroom, and I knew it was over. I didn’t even have time to think about doing anything. I stood there and panicked.

He chocked me. I can still feel the wall against my back.

I knew I shouldn’t have gone out, but there’s something about Baz that makes me want to be bad. He makes me want to _live_.

And it’s terrifying.

I’ve never been quiet. I’ll never be more than a bull in a china shop. I can’t help it, it’s just the way that I am. Just like my love for butter or my ability to wake up at 6 am without an alarm.

Davy kept telling me how useless I was. Why did he even let me stay in his place? He should have given me up a long time ago.

I know he mentioned wanting to put me up for adoption before. Force me into a care home. But he only ever used it as a threat. And I’m too old now. But it still hurt, to know that I wasn’t wanted. To know that my own father didn’t want me.

And he’d make sure to remind me that no one wanted me. So, really, he was doing me a favor. Because if I want into the system, no one would ever take me.

I half expected him to kick me out again last night. He didn’t. That would have been letting me off easy.

He punched me twice in the face and once in the stomach, seeming to remember too late that he has an unspoken rule to never hit my face. He seems to be forgetting that rule a lot recently. I feel the older I get, the worse it gets.

In a year, I can legally move out. I just have to make it a year.

And yet it might as well be forever.

I sigh and reopen my eyes to look at Baz.

I wonder what his dad is like. He sounded nice on the phone. He even told Baz he _loved_ him. Davy has never said that to me. If he did, I wouldn’t believe him.

Shifting in the bed, I try to get up without waking Baz. He must be exhausted because he doesn’t stir at all. I can hear his aunt in the living room, watching Law and Order. The theme music rolling into Baz’s bedroom. She’s keeping the volume lower than she probably needs to, though.

She cares about Baz. It’s not that hard to see. I’m worried that if I walk out of his bedroom, she’ll kill me.

But I promised Penny I would call her today after I said I couldn’t hang out. She sent me about eight text messages that all stopped once I said I was tired from hanging out with a friend. Then she demanded I call her later and explain. And if I don’t, she might show up on my doorstep. That’s the type of person she is.

I stand in the middle of his bedroom and contemplate what to do. On the one hand, I’m pretty sure if Penny did show up and my apartment was empty, she’d just leave. But what if Davy’s home when she gets there? He might hurt me later, or worse, he’ll hurt her. I can’t take the risk. I decide that Baz’s aunt will be a better bet.

I open the door slowly, trying to stay quiet. Glancing back at Baz to make sure he’s still asleep before I slid into the hallway.

“Hey, if you hurry up—” His aunt starts. Then she looks back and realizes I’m not Baz. She stares at me for a long amount of time. Too long. It makes my skin crawl with nerves.

“Hello,” I say, trying to make her say something, _anything_. I would rather her scream than stare at me like that.

She looks away from me and then back up after a few seconds pass.

“You weren’t here last night,” She says loudly. It sounds like she’s accusing me of something.

“Um, no, but Baz is sleeping so,” I say, trying to keep my voice even and low.

She furrows her eyebrows at me, one hand coming up to rest on the back of the couch. Taking a few steps into the hallway, I start toward the door.

“Whoa, exactly where do you think you’re going, looking like that?” She says to me.

I look down at my clothes. I’m wearing trackies and a t-shirt. Not understanding what she’s saying, I look up and gesture toward myself in confusion. She gestures at her own face.

_Oh._

“Home?” I ask, more than say, tentatively.

Fiona holds a hand up at me and moves off the couch. She disappears into the hallway, and I think about bolting while she’s gone. A door opens and closes, and she appears back without any weapons in her hands. She sits back down on the couch.

“You can go now,” Fiona says, “I just wanted to make sure Baz was okay. Because, you know.” She lets the sentence linger in the air. As if accusing me of hurting Baz wasn’t already painful enough, she needs to let it sink in.

“I would never hurt Baz,” I say defensively. Fiona looks up at me, her hair falling into her face. It’s the same silky black as Baz’s. It looks soft. The sudden regret of not touching Baz’s hair while he was asleep next to me hits me. Maybe next time, I reason. Then realize I’m saying I’ll be in bed with Baz again. The thought makes my face heat up.

“I know, Salisbury,” She finally says.

I don’t realize until I’m out the door that I forgot my shoes.

~

“Simon Snow Salisbury,” Penny says angrily when she picks up her phone, “are you back together with Agatha? Because I swear—

“Penny,” I warn, “I told you Agatha doesn’t think of me that way. I have other friends.”

The line goes quiet before I hear Penny dissolve into fits of laughter.

“It’s not funny, I do!”

“Si, I love you, but you do not.”

“Shut up,” I say. I’m too tired, too in pain, to deal with this. It must carry through my voice because Penny stops laughing and clears her throat.

“Sorry,” she says shyly, “I didn’t mean anything by that.

“I know,” I sigh into the phone and hear it echo. Penny must have me on speaker again.

“Who did you hang out with?”

“There’s a boy that lives downstairs, well is visiting? Anyway, he brought me to his aunt’s concert.”

“That sounds nice,” Penny hums. I nod even though she can’t see it.

“It was. He’s…” I can’t think of the right word to say.

“Fit?” Penny supplies with a hint of a giggle in her voice. My cheeks flare up, and I’m glad I’m alone in my room.

“I…yeah, maybe,” I mumble. Penny knows I like boys and girls. That makes conversations about either gender harder.

“When do I get to meet him?” She coos. I can hear a pencil scratching in the background.

“Are you studying?”

“Maybe, but we’re talking about your new boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I say. My blush is starting to work down my neck. I rub at it awkwardly, hoping it’ll help melt the heat away. I flinch at the touch, pain rekindling.

“If you say so,” Penny says. There’s the sound of a door opening and a muffled voice that sounds like her older brother.

“Yeah, yeah, I gotta go, Si. But we should hang out soon. No more canceling. I’ll take you to any place you want and order you a slice of cake. Deal?”

My stomach growls at the thought.

“Deal.”

She hangs up as her brother’s voice gets louder. I can hear her starting to yell at him. I wish I had a sibling. I’d pretend to hate him just like Penny, and her siblings do. It’s become clear to me after listening to a few screaming matches in their house, that that’s just how siblings behave.

I wonder if Baz has siblings that he fake hates.

I wish he had talked to me about his life instead of me talking about mine. My life isn’t exciting. I’m not good at anything, I have two friends, and I barely ever leave my house. I have no mom, no siblings, and an abusive dad I don’t want to talk about.

I remember Baz said that he lost his mother in a house fire. Is it worse to lose them and never know them? Or is it worse to know them and lose them?


	7. Ghosts

** Baz **

I dream about my mother. It’s not the stereotypical dream that I normally have. This time it’s gentle and kind. She’s not on fire or screaming. In fact, she’s in our backyard with me on her lap. I can feel her chest against my back. Her breathing lulling me to a gentle sleep. Black hair is tickling my exposed neck, draping around me like a blanket. I always loved my mother’s hair.

I close my eyes for a moment. Through my eyelids I can see a bright flash. As I reopen my eyes, I catch something fly across the sky.

“Look little puff,” My mother says into my ear. I tilt my head up toward the sky, trying to wipe away the sleep with one hand.

“What was that?” I ask the sky. Or my mother. She laughs, causing vibrations to run through my legs and back. It tickles and makes me want to giggle, but I don’t.

“A shooting star,” she leans forward and rests her chin on the top of my head, wrapping her arms around my stomach. I look down at her smooth hands and place mine over them.

“If we see another one, we can make a wish.”

I try to keep my eyes open. Just a little bit longer. But it’s so hard, with the warmth wrapped around me and the feeling of my mother holding me. She’s here with me now, and somehow, it makes my dream wobble with sadness. Even though dream me doesn’t know why.

As I’m about to give up on the stars, another streak of light goes across the sky.

“Make a wish,” My mother says. I hear her start to hum my lullaby. I haven’t heard it in years. The words escape me, but the melody stays.

I close my eyes.

_I wish you didn’t leave me._

When I reopen my eyes, I’m alone. It’s cold like her ghost was holding on to me. The illusion is broken. Shivering, I wrap my own arms around me and look around the woods. There’s nothing but the sound of silence. The type of silence that comes with snow. Dampening the whole world out with frost.

“Mom?” I call out into the darkness. My voice doesn’t carry around me. Instead, it dies in the air.

A violent shiver rips through me, my teeth chattering.

Fat snowflakes start to fall around me.

And I wake up, sweat clinching to my clothes, and shaking.

It’s the type of dream that leaves you disoriented. It takes me a moment to realize where I am. When I don’t immediately see my old Victorian bed, gargoyles and all, my heart jumps into my throat. The sight of my suitcase reminds me I’m at Fiona’s.

And that I had a gorgeous boy in my bed that is no longer there.

It dawns on me that I must have waken up because Simon is gone now. He was probably keeping me warm. I slid underneath the blankets, too tired to even take off my clothes.

I snuggle into the soft sheets. The warmth is going to take a while to build up. Mordelia complains that I’m cold-blooded. But, that’s mostly when I’m tickling her, and she claims my fingers feel like ice cubes (I can’t help the fact that I have poor circulation). I shiver again and bury my head into the mound of blankets too. Fiona keeps the AC turned up too high. Briefly, I think of cracking open the window to let the summer air in to warm my bones. Fiona might throw a fit about it, though, so I don’t bother.

Why did Simon leave?

I try not to dwell too much on the thought and instead focus on something else. Anything else, really.

I try to picture my entire family crammed into Fiona’s apartment tomorrow morning. My father and Daphne making coffee and Mordelia teasing the twins. Little Lucius inside my arms. Sleep alludes me for a little bit. I find myself listening to Fiona’s television show and trying to piece together what’s happening in the episode. Gunshots and cars revving echo down the hallway.

I fall asleep thinking of bronze curls on my pillowcase.

~

I wake up with a jolt. My heart is racing like I’ve just had a nightmare but I don’t remember one this time. The sun has completely disappeared outside, city lights polluting the air and hiding any stars I could have looked for. I lean my head against the glass and look down at the street. There’s an abundance of lights down below. Cell phones and car headlights, street lights and store signs.

I listen to the silence in the house. Either Fiona gave up on me and left or it’s late enough for bed. But, based on the amount of people down below, it can’t be too late. Though, it is a Saturday night.

I get out of bed and change into my pajamas before heading to the living room. I turn the lights on. I half expect to see Fiona laying on the couch. She’s not, but there is a note on the coffee table. I pick it up.

_If the prince happens to wake up and read this before I return, let it be known that I have gone to fetch Chinese food and whiskey._

I roll my eyes and place the note back down on the table. A time would have been nice. I check my phone just in case, but she didn’t bother texting me. I turn the television on and flip through the channels until I find something I can stomach. I watch one and a half episodes before there’s a knock on the door.

“You have your hand full, o’queen?” I call as I get up.

“Don’t be a prat,” Fiona’s voice says through the wood, “or I’ll dump your precious crab rangoon on the carpet.”

Fiona sneers at me when I open the door. I take the paper bags from her arms and place them down on the kitchen countertop.

My mouth waters at the smell of the food. I start to rip open one of the bags but she slaps my hands away.

“I’m starving,” I whine. Fiona has no mercy, though. She opens the whiskey bottle and takes a swig, staring me down. She swallows and clears her throat.

“Alright, boy-o, are we gonna talk about this morning?”

“What?” I’m honestly perplexed. I try to take a peek into the bag and she slides it out of my reach. I glare at her for good measure.

“Your boy-toy walked out of your bedroom this morning looking like he just got into a fistfight,” Fiona scoffs, “and you want me to ignore that?”

“Fiona, it’s not, it’s not like that, okay?”

“Then what is it like?

I eye the bottle of whiskey as she takes another gulp of it. I’m incredibly jealous at the moment. I want to down the bottle and let drunk Baz deal with this instead of me. My brain is scattered between the want of food (I haven’t eaten in nearly 24 hours), the truth, and a mirage of lies. The lies aren’t good enough for Fiona though. And I can tell by the look on her face that she’s timing how long it’s going to take me to answer.

“Alright, Basil, if you aren’t going to answer me then I have one thing to say to you,” Fiona takes a deep breath and slides one of the paper bags toward me. My mouth fills up with salivation. I think it’s from the food, but my stomach also twists uncomfortably.

“For the rest of your stay here, I don’t want you anywhere near that kid,” Fiona says.

I feel like the floor’s been dropped out from underneath me.

“No, wait—”

“—I gave you the chance to speak, now you _listen_ —”

“— _Fiona_ —”

“—that kid is obviously trouble—"

“—It’s his dad!” I shout. Fiona’s next sentence stops short, and she makes a strangled noise.

She turns toward the Chinese food, placing the bottle down with a loud clang, and starts to unpack them from the bags. The white takeout containers are hard to focus on. I feel my eyes begin to burn.

“I know,” her voice strains as she says it, “the whole damn block probably knows, and what I said remains the same.”

She won’t look at me.

I stare at her in disbelief. And then I grab the whiskey bottle from its place on the countertop.

“Basil,” Fiona starts. I cut her off by taking a huge swig from the bottle. My gulps are the only sound in the apartment. It burns going down my throat.

“Don’t,” I warn, out of breath from drinking so much as once. Fiona still won’t look at me. Instead, she takes her containers and makes her way to sit on the couch. She keeps the television on the same channel. I drink until I can’t make out what’s on the screen.

Then I take my food and stumble into my room.

Except, it’s not even my room. I want nothing more than to curl up in my bed, with my cat, and pretend that none of this is real.

I pull out my phone and fumble with it until my contacts pop up. I scroll through them, looking for anyone to talk to. My finger almost presses Fiona’s name. Out of sheer habit.

I keep scrolling trying to find any name, anyone at all, that I can vent to.

“I need more fucking friends,” I say aloud, throwing my phone off my bed.

I hear it thump to the ground and dig into my food with my hands. Which isn’t something I normally do, but I’m more than tipsy and I don’t trust myself to stand up again.

When the alcohol finally starts to wind down, a headache pounding at the back of my eyeballs, Fiona opens the bedroom door.

I roll over and face the window.

“Learn to knock,” I say. My voice sounds like I’ve been crying even though I haven’t been.

“Alright, Romeo, com’on.”

The bed dips, and I feel Fiona’s hand on my shoulder. I huff, so she knows I’m listening.

“Look, I know I don’t say it enough, but I love you.” She smells like cigarette smoke. A tinge of guilt runs through me. I made Fiona so nervous she smoked before coming to talk to me.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” she continues. She rubs slow circles into my shoulder. It helps some of the tension melt away.

“Fiona,” I say, looking over my shoulder at her, “I can handle myself.”

“I know you can boy-o. But that doesn’t mean I want to see you hurt.”

I sigh and sit up, leaning into her body heat. She wraps an arm around my shoulders and I’m suddenly brought back into my dream. I look up at the ceiling.

“I dreamt about my mom last night.”

Fiona hums and squeezes me.

“I miss her too,” She says softly. Her hand moves up to my scalp and pushes my hair into my face. I wiggle away from her and smooth it back as she starts chuckling.

“Promise me one thing, ‘ight?” Fiona says once she’s done laughing at me. I frown at her, but don’t stop her from speaking.

“You can have Salisbury come here. You can bring him out. But never go to his apartment. No matter what, okay? And I won’t say another thing to you about it.”

I eye her, trying to determine if she’s lying to me. But she seems genuine. That, and exhausted. There’re bags rimming her eyes. She suddenly looks older than I remember her looking before. I lean back into her.

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoy this tiny moment between Baz and Fiona (because I enjoyed writing). 
> 
> Unfortunately, I have broken my wrist (yes you read that right) so this fic might now update a tad bit slower (as my SO doesn't want me typing with my cast on, but I am stubborn lmao).
> 
> I'm going to aim for once a week still! I also wrote part of the next chapter already :)
> 
> As always thank you for the kudos and comments they make my day and keep me writing <3


	8. Emergency Dance Party

** Simon **

Davy is taking me out to dinner. It’s not a rare occurrence, per se, but it makes me feel on edge all the same. He tells me to look good, looking me up and down with mild distaste. I wear jeans, my best polo, and a pair of work boots. Davy bought them for me when he had me help at his field school for one year. Since I left my sneakers downstairs, I have no other choice. I can feel myself sweating as I walk out of my room. I’m hoping he chalks it up to fashion. Even though my feet are already starting to chafe. It’s much too hot to be wearing boots.

Davy gives me a look of approval and holds the door open for me to walk in front of him. I hate walking in front of him. It always makes me feel like he’s going to trip me down the stairs or something. But he quickly takes the lead once we’re out of the building. I practically have to run after him, as he takes long strides. I dodge between crowds of people, trying to keep up with him. He walks faster than me. So it’s surprising when he stops.

We stop in front of a restaurant. The name isn’t familiar, nor is the look of it. It looks Italian, with green and red flower boxes hanging beneath the windows. It’s small and quiet—the type of place you’d find on a website for ‘hole-in-the-wall’ places.

I don’t think we’ve ever been here before. But food is food as far as I’m concerned. 

An unfamiliar place should have been my first clue to something being afoot, but my stomach is growling, and I let it lead me inside. Not that I have a choice.

The second clue is the giant table that Davy leads me too. It’s bustling with young people who cheer as we walked over. I nearly freeze, but Davy gently pushes me forward.

“Good to see you all,” my dad says, “this is my son, Simon. He’ll be joining us tonight.”

Quite a few voices say hello to me as I take an empty seat. Davy sits down next to me and gives me a tightlipped smile. My throat feels drier than before. I sip on the water in front of me as the conversations pass around me. Keeping my eyes down and staring down at the ripples that go through the cup.

“Simon?’ I hear right before there’s a sharp kick on my ankle. I bite the inside of my cheek and look up from the glass. There’s a pretty young girl across the table from me smiling. She’s leaning across, her arms crossed on the tabletop, and her smile brightens when she notices me looking at her.

“What are you planning on studying when you go to college?” The girl asks me.

“Oh, I, uh—” I clear my throat and try to will my tongue to work. A blush is starting to form on my cheeks and neck. I can feel Davy looking at me, waiting to judge my answer. Or lack thereof, with how my mouth is cooperating with me.

“I was thinking culinary or psychology,” I say after restarting my sentence twice. The brunette next to me, turns and smiles.

“Those are both great, but everyone loves a man who can cook,” The brunette says. The girl across the table hums in agreement. I turn my attention toward the menu and pray they forget about my existence.

The waiter saves me, showing up with a notepad and fake smile. I order first and take a deep breath of relief as he distracts everyone else with taking their orders. As he’s taking the girl across from me’s order, he seems to notice me relax and gives me a smile that reaches his eyes. The heat from before sparks again, making my chest tighten. I avert my eyes down to the table before glancing at Davy.

He’s entranced with the young man next to him. They're both talking so fast (about soil?) that my head starts to spin. I turn back to the brunette.

“You study archeology?” I ask her dumbly. She doesn’t seem to mind my question. She smiles at me gently and rests a hand on my shoulder. I want to shrug it off, but I don’t want to seem rude.

“Yes, I’m in your dad’s field school right now. We all are actually.”

I’m distracted by her hand, leaving my shoulder and how great it feels to have the ACed air back on my skin.

“I’m thinking about switching to women’s studies, though. I just don’t want to have wasted four years, you know?” She says kindly to me. As if I understand her plight.

I don’t, but I nod politely and comment about how hard of a decision it must be. She talks to me until our food arrives.

Then I get to retreat into the steam and taste, forcing everyone around me out.

Davy seems pleased with me so far. It makes butterflies tangle up in my stomach. When I do something he approves of, it’s like getting oxygen when you’ve been drowning. _Intoxicating_. I feel like I can’t get enough. Even though I know, it’ll be ripped away again.

Everyone forgets about me as they start eating too. The girl across from me and the brunette both turn toward other people to talk. Davy forgets about me too. I’m a ghost sitting at a table of people. Taking up an empty chair but not interacting. Being apart and completely separated at the same time.

When people start finishing their meals, they start breaking off. Hugs and goodbyes are exchanged. Fewer and fewer people make up my protective bubble.

The brunette next to me frightens me by placing her hand on my shoulder again. I jump, expecting Davy’s face. Instead, it’s hers, and she smiles at me with smeared lipstick.

“It was very nice meeting you, Simon,” She says, taking her hand off me.

I nod and try to force out a sentence that makes sense.

I get out, “good luck with your degree.”

It sounds awkward even to me, but she smiles and nods, like she gets the message. Then she joins two boys on their way out. I finally turn to look at Davy. But he’s no longer seated to my right. It takes me a second to find him in the bodies standing around me. He’s talking to a girl who’s still sitting at the table with me. He’s shadowing her, hand placed on the table, so he’s leaning over her. I can see where his chest meets her shoulder.

My skin starts to itch. I wipe my palms off on my jeans.

“Simon?” Davy’s voice carries through the room. It’s commanding, and I can’t ignore it even if I wanted to. It makes all my hair stand on end. 

“Yes, dad?” I say in my sweetest, obedient, son voice. The girl he’s talking to looks up at me as I speak. Our eyes catch, and she sucks in her cheeks, red splotches showing up on her neck.

But she doesn’t look away, so I don’t either. Her eyes are the color of wet grass. There’s an emotion lingering there that I can’t name.

She looks away when Davy’s voice starts again.

“Was tonight the night you were going to stay over your friends?”

He smirks at me and winks. I resist the urge to look around. Because, surely, he can’t be looking at me like that. Like we’re _coconspirators_.

“I…well, yes?” I answer, feeling my cheeks start to burn. No one else in the room is noticing our conversation. I wish someone would. Someone older than me, stronger than me, should be stopping this. I don’t know how to stop this. Whatever _this_ is. But it feels wrong. Rubbing against me like sandpaper.

“I’m sorry, I completely forgot. I didn’t mean to drag you out when you already had plans. You can head over now. You can get there yourself, right?”

I nod, deciding speaking isn’t the best decision. It’s just more likely to get me in trouble later. I hear Davy mutter something along the lines of ‘ _perfect_ ’ before placing her hand on the girl’s shoulder. The girl looks up again as I stand up.

I recognize the emotion in her eyes now.

Shame.

Davy looks away as someone shouts their goodbyes.

‘ _You don’t have to,’_ I mouth at the girl.

I don’t know if she can read my lips or if she doesn’t care. But she crosses her arms across her chest and looks away from me.

~

I go to the convenience store to pick up makeup. The cashier barely looks at me as I pay for the concealer with cash. He works the register like a zombie. Barely aware of anything around him.

I pull out my phone and call Penny. She picks up on the third ring.

There’s music playing in the background softly, but when she says hello, it shifts away from the mic and quiets.

“Hi, Pen. I was wondering if I could come over?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. I walk into the store’s bathroom and lock it behind me.

My hands are shaking as I open the concealer packaging.

I study my face in the mirror. There’s still a lingering blush on my neck. I start to dap the makeup on my bruised jaw. Blending it in, so it doesn’t look like a smudge of paint on my face. It burns to touch, but the result is perfectly Simon colored skin.

Some of my freckles disappear underneath, but it’s not that noticeable. I hope.

“Of course, you can, you’re practically my brother. Except, you know, not as annoying.”

I roll my eyes even though she can’t see it. I poke at the cut on my face. It’s healing but still too raised for the makeup. I put the tube in my pocket.

“You didn’t even ask your mom,” I say as I slip out of the bathroom. I smile at the cashier who doesn’t even look at me. Turns out, I’m invisible in more than one social situation.

“Yeah, and? Are you not gonna come if I don’t?”

Penny has me beat there. I’m going to show up anyway. If I’m honest, the thought of her asking makes my stomach hurt. Because her mom might say no, and then I have to find somewhere to spend the entire night.

“Fine, fine, I’ll be there in a little bit.”

“I’ll leave the door unlocked,” Penny hums, and then the line goes silent.

I sigh into my phone even though it’s disconnected now. There’s no one on the other end of the line to hear me.

The girl’s eyes keep popping up in my mind. I remind myself, as I walk through the city, that she’s an adult. She can make whatever decisions she wants to. So, why does it make my stomach feel like it’s full of ice water?

It’s because it’s Davy, a voice in my mind tells me.

I tell it to shut up.

I plug Penny’s address into google maps after wandering down a few streets that don’t look familiar.

By the time I end up there, the sun’s going down, casting red and purple on the sidewalk.

Unlike me, Penny and Agatha both live in houses. It feels weird, opening the front door and being greeted with a living room instead of stairways.

Penny is sitting on the couch, listening to pop music. The bass is so loud it hits me in the chest. I close the door and look around for her brothers or parents. They don’t seem to mind the music, though.

When Penny sees me, she smirks and jumps up, jogging toward me. I brace myself for her attack-hug and swing her around. She laughs in my ear, the vibration of it rumbling in the space between us. It’s light and airy. It’s one of my favorite noises.

“Si! Dance with me!” She yells when she pulls apart from me. She leans across from me and locks the door before swinging back and grabbing my arms.

“Pen—” I start. I have all the intention of saying that I don’t feel good enough to dance. But then she grabs my hand and starts to twist, bumping her hip into mine and dancing against my side until I start dancing too.

“ _Yas_ ,” She says once I start relaxing.

I feel my laughter bubble up and let it out as I twirl around the room, the music pumping in my ears like hot blood.

The restaurant starts to fade out of my memory: Davy and that girl and everything else.

Nothing matters except me and my best friend pretending to be in a nightclub in the middle of her living room.

Eventually, Penny’s family decides they’ve had enough of us. Her mother pops out of nowhere and unplugs the speakers. She points without a word toward the ceiling. Indicating for us to go to Penny’s room. Agatha used to think it was weird how Penny’s family didn’t care about me being in her room or sleeping over. I think she got jealous sometimes (even though she told me she didn’t like me like that).

Penny throws a bit of a fit before finally letting us go to her room.

Once the door closes behind us, she flops down on her bed and smirks at me.

“So, I heard there was a fit guy in your apartment complex,” She says, wiggling her eyebrows at me.

I grunt and sit on the edge of her bed, taking my boots off. My socks are stained with sweat. Penny scrunches her face at them in disgust.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

I blink and look up at her with a frown.

“And what? He’s a fit guy that lives underneath me.”

“Did you guys snog yet?”

I try to say her name, but it comes out as a mess of stuttered p’s and e’s.

“I’m just playing, relax,” She says with a giggle, patting my shoulder. 

“I don’t think he’s going to be around much longer. His dad called him the other,” I say with a disappointed sigh. Penny scouts closer to me and leans her head on my shoulder. Her hair tickles my neck. I feel the ache of my sore muscles as she lets herself relax against me, her weight sinking into me.

“Well then, you’ll just have to get his number,” She says as if it’s that easy.

I think of trying to ask for Baz’s number and already feel the stutters in my throat.

“I’ll try,” I say.

“There’s no trying,” Penny says, “only succeeding in this house.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a hot minute, but I'm back! I have a brace now instead of a cast, so typing is much easier :). Thank you for all your kind comments <3\. I hope everyone is staying safe and healthy! 
> 
> This chapter feels like me saying, "just how bad of a guy can I make Davy seem"? Let me know if it's working lmao ;P


	9. Puzzle Pieces

** Baz **

There’s a headache starting behind my eyelids. The screaming of the twins isn’t helping. They’re chasing each other through Fiona’s apartment and yelling at the top of their lungs every time they collide. I think they’re trying to play tag.

My family came over early in the morning. Because my father believes if you sleep too late, you’re ‘wasting the day’. They said they wanted to go out to breakfast together. So far, no one has moved past the kitchen. Lucius is staring up at me with big brown eyes, sucking on his thumb. While sipping on my third cup of coffee, I lean over and place one of my fingers into his carrier. He looks at me for a moment, blinking, before swapping his thumb for my finger.

“Gross,” I mumble. Fiona hears me and smirks into her coffee cup.

“Do you think we’ll ever get out of this place?” Fiona asks me loud enough for dad and Daphne to hear her. Daphne is trying to wrangle the twins, and she huffs in response to us.

“Girls!” She exclaims as she grabs one of them by the forearm, “if you do not settle down, we’re not going to get breakfast.”

“Waffles!” They both say together. It echoes around the room, followed shortly by them stumbling toward the door.

 _Finally_.

I’m not that hungry, and I _did_ miss my family, but sitting around and pretending to get ready to leave is getting annoying.

I’d rather be in bed still.

The twins yank Fiona’s door open, and that’s the key to go, Mordelia and Daphne running after them. Once they’re in the hallway, though, they become angels and wait for us with innocent smiles painted on the faces. As if.

Fiona must have been the one to decide where we’re going because she takes the lead, and I step into pace beside her to stay away from my overactive sisters. Later I’ll be in the mood to play. Right now, I need a cigarette and an hour to get the headache to fade away.

Outside, the sky is beautiful, and the streets are crowded. The heat is rising off the pavement in visible waves. But it feels good like it's melting the cold off my skin. I close my eyes for a moment, tilting my head up and letting the sun hit my face. It lights up my eyelids, and I smile at the warmth that starts to flood my cheeks: that and the familiar sounds of my family’s voices fluttering around me.

Then someone bumps me, and I open my eyes, squinting into the bright day.

Fiona nods her head to her right. I take the cue and look over.

Simon’s there, walking down the street with his head down. His curls are catching the morning sun and turning golden. I feel my breathe hitch in my throat.

I stare too long because Simon looks up and catches my eyes. He gives me a tightlipped smile. The bruise on his jaw is gone, but there’s still a thin cut along his cheek. His cheeks are tinted pink, and he’s clutching a plastic bag like it’s his anchor.

“Hello, Salisbury,” Fiona says from next to me. I feel my blood flood to my face. I nod at Simon instead of talking.

“Good morning,” Simon says, his smile taking over his whole face. He closes his eyes with it. I wonder if it’s, so people don’t see past his teeth. Because when he opens them again, he averts his eyes toward the side, and they look glossy. Has he been crying? Why is he up so early?

“Have you eaten anything yet?” Fiona asks him. I look over with her and try to keep the look of shock off my face.

Simon looks just as shocked as I feel.

“Um, no, I haven’t yet. But I just came from, uh—”

“—Okay, keep up,” Fiona says with a wink. I feel her elbow me in the side, and then she’s off down the street. Father looks between Simon and me quickly before taking the twins by the hands and following. Daphne gives Simon a warm smile and shifts Lucius’s carrier from one side to the other, holding it against her hip.

“Please do join us. Our family motto is the more, the merrier,” Daphne tells Simon. I can’t help but smile.

Simon’s free hand comes up to his hair, and he starts to pull at it when I take a step closer. His eyes immediately move to mine again. I hold my hand out to him.

I ignore the beating of my heart in my chest.

He looks down at my hand. For a moment, I think he’s not going to take it.

But he does.

I can’t help but notice how perfectly our hands fit together. Two puzzle pieces locking together. His hands are clammy, and he squeezes mine as I turn.

I don’t look back at him. I just squeeze in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is super short, and I'm so sorry! It also hasn't been edited as much as I usually do, which I also apologize for.
> 
> I just wanted to give you guys something, especially since most people are stuck inside. Unfortunately, I'm considered an essential employee and still go into work most days (some days they let me work from home thankfully). 
> 
> Because of this stupid virus, my work situation, and all the events I was looking forward to being canceled (including seeing Alec Benjamin in concert!! UGH), my anxiety is at an all-time high. When I'm really anxious, I can't write. No matter how much I want to ;(. 
> 
> So, this is my way of saying I'll probably have smaller updates, or they'll be longer apart. I do have the plot laid out, and I don't plan on having it be that much longer (though if I'm honest, I always write more than I plan to haha), so if I can get my anxiety under control that would be great lmao.
> 
> I hope you guys understand, and I hope you all stay safe and healthy <3.


	10. Angelita

** Simon **

I thought _I_ was loud.

Baz’s sisters are putting me to shame, screaming over each other, and pointing excitedly at random things I’ve never even noticed before (and I’ve lived in this city my whole life). I’ve never seen the breakfast place they pick. I just follow along awkwardly, trying to will my hand to stop sweating in Baz’s. He hasn’t let go yet, and I think he may have forgotten that he took my hand in the first place. I don’t want him to let go, though, which is one of the reasons my hand has to stop sweating. The last thing I want is Baz looking at me with disgust. I keep wiping my free hand on my jeans.

Fiona keeps glancing at us like she has something she wants to say, but her mouth doesn’t so much as twitch. And the rest of his family is acting as if this is a regular occurrence.

The staff has to push two tables together for us. Which isn’t that surprising, but it brings back memories of last night that I’d rather just forgot. I see that poor girl looking at me and can feel the sour tinge of social anxiety settling into my stomach. The green of her eyes still fresh in my mind.

But, even as we sit down, Baz holds my hand. He positions them on top of his knee. He’s an anchor tying me to the world. To this moment. And there’s an emotion that clings to the back of my throat as I think about it. An emotion that makes me want to turn and nestle my face into his neck. Forget that anything has ever been wrong in the world. Forget Davy and that girl and his entire family. I want to melt against him and pretend it all away.

Yet, here I am, doing none of those things. Instead, I'm smiling politely as his mother asks me how old I am.

Baz starts rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb and telling me his family's names under his breath once the waitress comes to take orders.

Fiona is still staring at us.

His mother and father take turns, asking me typical questions about school. Where do you want to go to college? Have you thought about what you want to study? How about after that? The answers roll off my tongue easily—practice from last night's barrage of similar questions.

“So,” Baz’s father says, as the food comes, “how long have you and Baz been seeing each other?”

I feel Baz’s hand let go of mine immediately. My hands stopped sweating a whole ago, but now without the comfort of the weight of his, they start again.

“We’re not exactly—” Baz begins.

“—We met a few days ago,” I continue, feeling my cheeks start to heat up. Mordelia snickers, and her mother sends her a look that makes her stop and pout. There's suddenly a tension in the air. I want to say something to make it go away, but I have no idea what I would even say. Should I insist that we're not dating? Is that even what his dad meant? Am I just reading too much into this? The thoughts start spinning in my head so rapidly that it becomes hard to breathe. I've never been good at these kinds of things. 

Fiona clears her throat and takes a swig of water before smiling at me.

“He lives upstairs,” Fiona says. I feel myself smile back at her as the tension fades away. Maybe it was never there in the first place.

“Well, that’s lovely,” Baz’s mother says, clapping her hands together, “I’m glad you made a friend on your trip.”

There feels like there are quotations marks around the word friend. My stomach clenches in embarrassment. Does Baz see this as something too? Or is his family just the type who think any friend is a date?

The rest of the breakfast is awkward but manageable. That type of tension never comes back. My head stays free of rapid thoughts too. Baz’s sisters start another round of screaming once they’ve finished their food. As if the massive amounts of syrup, whipped cream, and sprinkles are fueling their vocal cords.

Baz clears his throat and places both his hands on the tabletop as he starts to stand.

“I’m going to step outside while you wait for the check, Simon do you want to join me?”

I nod and follow suit, navigating the maze of people and tables. It’s too early for the sun to be too bright, but it’s there, and the sky is a pale shade of blue. The birds and people around us are saying good morning to each other. I close my eyes against the warm breeze as Baz lights up a cigarette.

“Do your parents know you smoke?” I ask as the scent wafts over me.

“No. I’m pretty good at keeping secrets,” Baz responds. I open my eyes and find him staring back at me. There’s an underlying conversation here that I don’t want to have, so instead, I turn toward him and smirk.

“Oh, I’m sure you are,” I tease.

Baz lifts an eyebrow at me and takes another drag from his cigarette.

“Anyway,” He says, “I’ll be stuck with them for the rest of the day, but you’re most than free to come join us at any point.”

I swallow around the lump in my throat.

“Okay,” I manage to say.

I don’t know what else there is to say. What’s the appropriate response to that?

I decide to change the subject instead, leaning back against the wall of the building.

“Can I?” I ask as he takes another drag, holding my fingers out toward him.

“Didn’t you know? Smoking is bad for your health,” Baz says with a smirk. One of his perfect eyebrows arches up. Heat starts to rise to my cheeks. I rub the back of my neck and give him what I hope is _not_ a sheepish smile.

“So, you’re allowed to smoke, but I can’t?” I ask. The question has a lilt, in the end, making it sound more like casual banter instead of an argument.

Baz stills, the cigarette barely hanging from his fingers, gently leaning against his bottom lip.

I’m jealous of that cigarette.

“Well…” Baz pauses as if he’s trying to collect the right words. When he finds them, he takes a deep inhale, moving the cigarette away, and tilts his head down toward me.

He lets out a deep sigh.

“Because I care about you,” He manages to say. It comes out a bit too fast and hits me worse than any fist ever has. The breath gets knocked out of my lungs. My eyes start to sting.

Baz looks away from me, rolling the cigarette between his fingers.

I bite the inside of my cheek to calm down. To force everything into the pit of my stomach.

I reach over and flick the cigarette out of his hand. He looks at me with surprise.

“ _I_ care about _you_ ,” I say back.

Baz makes a noise in the back of his throat. As I’m trying to decipher what it means, it happens again, followed by a burst of laughter.

It catches me off guard enough that I freeze.

But Baz’s laugh is lovely. And he’s genuinely laughing. Not in a malicious or self-deprecating way.

He smiles at me, a giggle still bubbling up his throat, and I grin back.

I feel like I’ve just won the lottery. The thought, and the fluttering in my chest, makes me feel lightheaded.

“What am I going to do with you, Simon Salisbury?” He asks with a fond look in his eyes.

I resist the urge to say; _anything you want._

~

The girl that went home with my father is sitting outside our apartment door. I stop in the middle of the hallway when I see her slumped figure. I can feel the happiness from my time with Baz fizzling out at the sight of her. Replaced instead with anxiety. It grows as I take a tentative step toward here. She doesn’t move. She's still wearing the same clothes she was in last night. But her hair is messy, knotted in the back, and she's so quiet I can't even tell if she's breathing.

At first, I’m worried she’s passed out, or worse, but she looks up at me when I take another step forward. Her eyes are bloodshot and clouded. She wipes are mouth absentmindedly. Her lipstick that was an orange has stained her lips. But it's smudged around the corners, bleeding into the skin. There are black dots of mascara underneath her eyes, too, like she tried to wash her face but then gave up.

“Good morning, Simon,” She says softly. I nod at her, my voice catching in my throat. Why is she still here? Why is she sitting outside of our apartment?

I know Baz and his family didn’t follow me up, but I feel a sense of drudge that they will that they’ll connect this with me and be disgusted. I shift uncomfortably as the girl doesn’t look away or get up. Her green eyes aren't the color of grass today. They're the color of paint water; muddy and lost.

“Don’t mind me; if you need to go inside, feel free,” She says and rests her head back on the wall. Her hair slides back as she moves. Bruises bloom around her lower jaw and neck.

“Are you okay?” I ask quietly. I glance at the door, nervously. I half expect it to open and reveal Davy standing there, but it doesn’t. The entire apartment complex is quiet except for her and me. Like we're in our own bubble. She lets out a shaky breath and gives me a sad smile.

“Does this happen often?” She asks. Her eyes are still on me, but she doesn’t seem to see me. I wonder if she sees _him_. I’ve been told we look alike. I tug at my hair. The burning sensation on my scalp distracts me from the nausea climbing up my throat.

We’re both a mess of nerves, like two rabbits, still as statues in the hallway. Wide-eyed and cautious. 

Terrified that the other might make a noise and attract the wolf.

Her breathing sounds wrong. Pained and fast.

Then suddenly, she holds her breath and stands up. She winces as she does like something hurts. I pray that it's from sitting on the ground for so long. Even though my mind tells me, otherwise, her eyes find mine and focus. It's intimating, but I don't look away. An unpleasant chill rushes down my spine.

“Simon, do you think you're brave?” She asks me as she steps closer. I nod even though I don’t understand what she’s trying to say.

“What’re you—?” My words catch in my throat.

“My name’s Angelita,” She says and smiles at me. Then she leans in and presses her lips against my forehead, a hand resting gently on my shoulder. I’m not much taller than her, but she still balances herself on me as she tiptoes. The smell of musk, sweat, and citrus fills my nose. I try not to breathe too deeply.

“Did he hurt you?” I ask as she slides back.

She tilts her head at me and then laughs lightly. It’s a pretty noise, like birds' voices carrying on the summer wind.

“Not much, he just likes to leave marks,” She says and pats my shoulder where her hand still sits. I don’t know what she means, but I nod again anyway.

“Take care.” It's almost a whisper. 

I let her slip by me like a ghost. She brushes against me again as she leaves, and I stand there until I hear the elevator door close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I am back from the dead :). 
> 
> I hope everyone is doing well and staying healthy.
> 
> I've been doing much better recently and have been writing more, so please enjoy a regular-sized chapter.
> 
> Thank you for all your lovely comments, they keep me writing and make me happier than you can imagine <3.


	11. Where There's Lightning, There's Bound to Be Thunder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Sorry for the long delay in getting this chapter out. The good news is that I already have the next chapter written and it should be the last chapter (writing has a mind of its own sometimes lmao).
> 
> As always thank you for your patience, kudos, and comments. 
> 
> I read all your comments, even if I don't respond to them :). And they honestly make my day.
> 
> I also started writing a very lighthearted fanfic of Baz and Simon (because they're so cute and they deserve some fun), so if you like this piece please look out for that in the future!

** Baz **

There’s a faint knocking noise out in the hallway.

At first, I think it’s just the wind or the neighbors. But it’s repetitive and loud enough to annoy me out of my half-consciousness. I’ve been lying listening to the rain for the past hour or so. I can see flashes of lightning filling the skyline, breaching the building to light up the apartment, and bouncing off the windows.

I feel a bit sore from wrestling with the twins earlier and having Mordelia tackle me into the carpet (now there’s a large rug burn on my forearm). I somehow manage to heave myself out of bed and toward our door. I have to be sure to walk carefully. Mordelia is dead asleep on my bed, and the twins are fast asleep on the floor. By the time I’m fully awake, and in the living room, I can tell that the noise is _actually_ coming from Fiona’s front door.

I pause as I’m about to open it.

How long as this person been knocking on this door? Should I even open it?

I lean forward and look through the peephole—bronze curls and wet skin bubble out in front of me. Simon is shaking slightly and frowning.

“Simon?” I ask while opening the door. I seem to catch him off guard because he jumps.

“Why are you soaking wet?”

“Oh, I, uh,” He shifts uncomfortably in the hallway and leans in, as if looking around me to see if anyone’s home, “so, I can’t find my dad?”

“What?”

“Yeah, I haven’t seen him since yesterday afternoon. I don’t know where he is.” Simon’s voice quivers, and he looks a bit ashamed of himself.

“It’s okay, Simon. Don’t worry. We can figure out something tomorrow,” I say quietly, taking a step back. As I do, Simon’s eyes get wider in fear.

“Please, Baz, I’m scared,” He says so softly I almost miss it. It makes my heart clench.

“How about we go to your apartment? I don’t want to wake up any of the girls.”

Simon tugs at the front of his hair, pulling it into his eyes. Almost like he’s embarrassed. And then I realize, he is embarrassed. His ears are flushed, and he starts to avoid my eyes by looking down the hallway toward the elevator.

I linger in the doorway, looking back toward the hallway that leads to Fiona. I promised her that I wouldn’t go to Simon’s apartment, didn’t I?

But his dad isn’t home, so what’s the worst that could happen?

The walk to Simons apartment is short, but it feels longer than I remember it being. I realize, halfway, that I’m still wearing my pajamas. I suddenly feel a bit uncomfortable, until I notice that Simon is just in sweats and a t-shirt.

I haven’t seen the inside of Simon’s apartment before. The first time I was here, it was cloaked in darkness. But, tonight, he left the lights on before he left. There’s a floor lamp on, casting a warm yellow glow around the room.

It doesn’t look how I expected it. It’s hard to remember that Simon’s dad not only has money, but he’s an archaeologist. He’s into other cultures. There’re masks on the far-left wall, above the television, and various types of figurines around the room. There’re papers on the coffee table with black pen marks.

“So,” I say, taking a seat on the leather couch, “the last time you saw your dad was last night? Does he normally disappear like that?”

Simon is starting to bite his lip raw, and he’s shaking his head.

“No, he’s never done something like this before.”

“Okay, well, I think the only thing we can really do is call the police.”

“No, no police,” Simon says. He’s shaking so badly that my insides start to squirm with anxiety at the sight of him.

“Come on, Simon, sit down,” I say softly, patting the empty spot next to me.

“What if something bad happened to him?” Simon asks, staring at the spot next to me.

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from saying something rash. Shouldn’t we be happy if he’s gone? Shouldn’t we want something bad to happen to him? It seems like perfectly fine karma to me. But it’s Simon’s _father_. No matter what happens, he’ll always be Simon's father.

“I’m sure he’s okay. He’ll probably be back in the morning,” I say calmly.

“There was this girl,” Simon starts, then cringes and shakes his head, “never mind, I don’t know. It’s not related.”

I feel a tinge of jealousy bubbling up in my throat. It’s acidic and burns, but I swallow it down. If he thinks it’s related to his father’s disappearance (which it must be, or he wouldn’t bring it up), then the girl has nothing to do with Simon. And right now, isn’t the time for jealousy.

“We should get you dried off and warm,” I say, even though the apartment feels hotter than Fiona’s ever does.

“Okay,” Simon agrees but doesn’t move. So, I stand back up and lead him by the elbow, softly, to the back of the apartment. The first bedroom we walk by must be his fathers. The door is fully open, showing me the knick-knacks and unmade bed. Looking into someone’s room feels like it should tell you everything about them. It should be a reflection of them. But Simon’s father’s room looks like I’d expect any college professors’ room to look. Messy but sophisticated.

I try not to dwell on it for too long. I don’t want Simon to think I’m prying.

Instead, I move onto the next room.

I haven’t known Simon long, sure, but his room sure seems like a reflection of him. There’re clothes all over the floor, which he kicks some underneath his bed and desk as we walk in. I let go of his arm so he can get changed and take a seat on his bed. There’re a few cooking books stacked on his desk, pens uncapped, and stuck between pages.

Simon opens his closet and fishes out pajamas, turning his back to change.

I try to look away (I promise). I find a collage of pictures of a dark-skinned girl and a blonde. I try to focus on the pictures, of the beach and of horses and museums.

But my eyes wander over to the constellations on Simon’s back instead. He has freckles and moles everywhere. I want to count them. There’s one particular mole right above the waistline of his pants that I want to kiss.

I swallow hard and turn back to the photos as he slips his new shirt on.

What exactly am I doing here?

Fuck, this isn’t going to end well, is it?

“So, who are the girls in the photos?” I ask as I see another one with the three of them squished into the frame. They looked like they’ve been drinking, red eyes, and blushed cheeks.

“Those are my two best friends, Penny and Agatha,” Simon says, his voice going soft, “I don’t know where I would be without them.”

“Well, hopefully, someday I can meet them,” I say, leaning back on my palms. Simon finally turns around, dry expect his hair, which is sticking to his forehead and temples, and he smiles.

“Of course. Agatha can be, well, a little standoffish, though. As a warning,” He says thoughtfully, “but I think you and Penny would really get along. She’s smart.”

“So are you,” I say somewhat defensively. Simon blinks in surprise before his face melts into a genuine smile, laughter shortly following.

“Thank you, Baz. Can you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Can you stay the night? I hate being alone at night.”

I nod before I even think really think about it. I don’t bother texting Fiona. If I tell her where I’m staying, she’ll march up here and drag me out. And if I tell her I’m with my family for the night, she’ll know I’m lying (worse, she might call them to rub it in).

“Sure.”

Simon smile brightens, and some of the tension in his shoulders disappears. He moves to sit next to me on the bed.

“Thank you, Baz.”

I nod instead of speaking. If I spoke right now, I think my voice would shake. It doesn’t help when Simon places one of his hands on top of mine.

“Um,” Simon starts, biting at his lip again. They’re turning a nice shade of pink.

“I really like holding your hand,” Simon finishes. His face is starting to flush too. It makes me smile.

“It makes me feel safe,” Simon says after I don’t answer.

“I like holding your hand, too,” I confess.

Simon spreads my fingers and places his in-between. His hands are sweating, but I don’t really care. It reminds me of this morning.

“I really liked your family too.”

I tilt my head and look down at him. Even sitting, I’m taller than him.

“They’re a pain sometimes.”

Simon hums. Whether it’s in agreement or in thought, I can’t tell.

“What do you do when you can’t sleep?” Simon asks, undoing our fingers, and laying back on his bed. It’s slightly bigger than the one I’ve been sleeping on at Fiona’s. I let Simon have some space as I lay down next to him. Making sure that our bodies aren’t touching.

“When I’m nervous?” I ask, noticing how Simon is still shaking. He turns toward me and nods.

“Well,” I say, “it depends. I sometimes pretend my mom is with me, playing with my hair. That always made me sleepy as a kid.”

I feel Simon shift, and before I know it, his phone is lighting up the area around us. His background is a chibi drawing of a dog, its tongue sticking out, and its paws up on the screen. He navigates to his photos and scrolls, creating a blur of colors before he picks one and shows it to me.

It’s a photo of a woman. She has golden curls following around her shoulders, a bright smile on her face, and freckles and moles everywhere. But the most striking thing is her eyes. They’re the same shade of Simons, perfectly ordinary blue. With a glint of something. And, I realize, with a spark in my stomach, that Simon looks at me like that sometimes.

“Who took this picture?”

“My dad, why?” Simon says, his voice laced with confusion. I can see his eyes in the pale light of his phone.

Simon looks at me sometimes like he loves me, I realize, staring at the woman on the phone.

Simon likes me?

The spark starts becoming a flame, the heat licking the insides of my stomach. My brain wants me to do something about this information.

But before I can do anything, before I can even think past the heat, Simon’s phone locks itself. Plunging us into near darkness, my eyes not adjusted to the sudden extreme change.

“You look a lot like your mom,” My brain supplies me to say in the awkward silence.

“Do I? Everyone says I look like my dad,” Simon says. His voice sounds broken. I turn and throw an arm over him, tucking myself into his side. I feel him relax against me.

“Nah.”

I feel Simon chuckle. It makes my heart skip a beat.

My eyes are starting to adjust again when Simon shifts, and the room lights up again. This time, it’s the lightning, a low rumble of thunder following shortly behind.

It takes longer than it should to realize I can feel Simon’s breath against my cheek.

“Simon?”

“Baz.”

I can see his shadow move closer, his cheek brushing against mine.

The lightning comes again, the room flashing white enough to see Simon’s eyes.

He smiles when we make eye contact.

“Would you kill me if I kissed you?” He asks quietly.

I don’t answer.

Instead, I lean forward and press our lips together.

It’s a bit clumsy. I’ve never kissed someone before, but Simon’s hand finds its way to my chin, and he guides me where I should go, lining our lips together better.

He tastes like toothpaste and salt. And for a second, I realize, maybe Simon wasn’t wet from the rain.

But then he twists his head and moves his chin in a specific way, sending chills down my spine, and I forget what I was just thinking about.

I don’t know how long we kiss for, but I can feel my lips start to bruise, and Simon starts to become more lethargic.

“You can go to sleep, you know,” I say against his lips, my words muffled.

“Mmm.”

Simon leans back and kisses my forehead.

“Can I kiss you tomorrow?” Simon asks with a yawn.

“Yeah.”

I can faintly see the smile on Simon’s face.

“G’night, Baz.”

“Good night, Simon.”


End file.
